It’s been a hard week. I’d write you the lyrics and sing you the tune of all my hardship, but I think we’re all familiar with the song.
I like to do this thing when the chips are down and my hand is starting to look more and more like a loser…I say in my head “just one more thing”. Seems like one more thing is usually pretty possible. Doesn’t really matter if there’s actually 57 more things. I just do the next one. Start at one end, in one room, at one time, and just do one more thing. I’m sure it’s probably the fitness instructor in me. I cheer myself on and find motivation, encouragement, and inspiration anywhere I can. I actively seek it out and pursue it. Also, I have a literal encyclopedia of song lyrics in my head. I can pull from them at anytime, and today I did. Today in the midst of utter chaos, weird happenings, and me desperately trying to do “just one more thing”…I remembered “Mountain Music”.
I was probably in the 4th grade the first time I sang this song personally in Mr. Hills “Special Singers” class.
Man, was I proud to be in that class. It makes me laugh now. I remember one night right before a special singers concert, my oldest sister decided to cut my bangs down to about a 1/2 inch. I was one goofy looking Amelia Earhart… but I digress…
This song got me thinking about my Grandma Boyd. My dads mom. She lived in a cabin in the mountains. She was one of the toughest ladies I’ve ever known. Also though, she was soft and round and silver and warm. She was something. We visited a few times a year. What I remember most was her kindness and banana pudding. She would always just let whatever may be, be. I never felt like she was anyone but who she was…unapologetically so, and she didn’t care if we were anything other than what we were either. I loved her laugh. She’d throw her head back and laugh with her whole being. Like real laughter. Good stuff. Nothing ever felt rushed around her. There was all the time in the world for a conversation, horseshoes, a walk up the mountain, naps, a sing-a-long jam session, doing the dish’s by hand, a fire in the stove…When we would visit, time sort of ceased to exist and we went back to a different era. A slower way of life. A simpler way.
She got sick.
We tried to bring her to our world to help heal her and give her the care she needed. She didn’t fit. The world moved differently and she couldn’t stay. It really was like taking a bird from the wild and putting it in a cage. You can’t cage a wild thing. Her heart belonged to the mountains. Her spirit could roam free there. We took her back there after she died. Gave her back to the mountains.
I write all this to say, that my grandma visited me today. In the midst of my hard. In the midst of my pain. In the midst of my stress and chaos. The song remembered. She lovingly took my hand, sat me down, sang through the lyrics with me and for me…
Oh play me some mountain music.
Like Grandma and Grandpa used to play.
Then I’ll float on down the river to the Cajun hideaway.
Drift away like Tom Sawyer.
Ride a raft with old Huck Finn.
Take a nap like Rip Van Winkle.
Lay streaming again.
I’m so thankful for memories. For strong women that helped to raise me. For mountain filled legacy’s and songs that help me find and remember the steady beat of my own heart. Thank you Grandma.
Now, just one more thing…